


Sweet Dreams Are Made of Something Else Entirely

by ricochet



Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Cruelty, Dreams and Nightmares, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Misuse of Materia (Compilation of FFVII), One Shot, Orgasm Denial, Possessive Behavior, Sex Dreams, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23957290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricochet/pseuds/ricochet
Summary: Cloud hasn't slept well in years, and it's not the insomnia that causes issues.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 22
Kudos: 277





	Sweet Dreams Are Made of Something Else Entirely

**Author's Note:**

> The only reason I am not tagging this non-con is it's a dream, and I'm not sure that qualifies. This is not a "healthy" AU take on the pairing. If you're familiar with the game, you should know what that means.

Cloud hasn't slept well in years. SOLDIER's don't need as much sleep as the unaugmented, so he doesn't feel the lack as hard as he would have once, but that doesn't mean he can go without sleep indefinitely. He has done when he had to, but after long enough even a SOLDIER starts to flag, and there's no excuse for not getting enough sleep when he has a safe place to crash.

Which is why he's standing next to his bed in Stargazer Heights, listening to the crazy next door mumble and thump around, while Cloud tries to negotiate his paranoia into something that will let him rest. It's a longer process than any reasonable person would need to go to bed.

The sword comes off his back to rest against the wall. If startled awake, Cloud can have it in hand in less than a second, and he's been able to kill things while nearly unconscious before. That isn't a real concern. Sitting down to take his boots off isn't so bad either. He's not a hand to hand fighter; his aren't weighted like Tifa's are to add extra impact to a kick. They're good boots, steel toed and well worn in, but if someone is close enough to step on his feet, he's already fucked up.

That leaves him sitting on the thin mattress of the bed, in his socks, staring at his gloves, and debating getting rid of his armor for the night. He's slept in full gear plenty of times, and he's got no real objection to doing it again.

Except.

He hates the feeling that he needs to do it. It's irrational to the point of stupidity. He was a SOLDIER First Class, and the number of people who could ever stand against him, armored or not, was never more than a handful.

These days half of that handful are already dead. The rest are who knows where, but they won't be in Midgar. Shinra never did like keeping them all in one place in case they noticed how fragile the leash holding them to the corporate structure really was.

Still, there can't be any harm in leaving the bracer on. It's got a cure and a lightning materia equipped and there's nothing in sector seven that is going to need more than that for him to take it down.

Cloud flexes his hands in his gloves and waits himself out.

Eventually, sick of his own weakness, he ditches everything. Stripping off his gloves, bracer, belts, and armor. He lays down on his side with his back to the wall and closes his eyes. His breathing is perfectly even, and the itch all over his skin is nothing he can't ignore.

It's ten minutes before he gives up and puts the bracer back on, feeling the buzz of materia under his skin like a calming touch. He shifts position enough that he can see the window and the door easily, and runs through the steps to field stripping a rifle until he bores himself to sleep.

The sheets under his cheek are soft, and the air on the back of his hands is warm. The blanket over his legs and lower back is comfortably heavy, and there's the low murmur of traffic far away. Cloud leaves his eyes closed and stretches slowly, feeling the slide of cloth against his skin and savouring how lazy it feels.

Warm hands move along his arms, from his biceps, up his forearms, warm leather he can smell glides over his skin as his arms are guided up by his head. Something in the back of his mind stirs uneasily, and Cloud drags his eyes open to see black gloves against his wrists along with his bracer. He feels slow with sleep, struggling to attach meaning to that image, but he knows enough to try and pull away.

A curtain of silver falls over his eyes, and lips press against the back of his neck, speaking a single word, "Silence."

The spell moves through him like syrup, warm and thick in his head, suffocating his connection to the materia on his wrist, washing away the buzz under his skin until all that's left is the feeling of being pinned down, and the smooth fabric of the sheets. Cloud opens his mouth to speak, and gasps instead as Sephiroth bites down on the back of his neck. Everything smells like ozone, and mako, and leather, and the breath comes out more like a groan than a word.

There's a knee pressing down on the back of his left thigh, and a single hand holding both his wrists, and Cloud still feels sluggish, but he's at least clear enough to know whatever's happening is nothing good. He tries to get his right leg under him so he can push up, but a hand in warm leather grips the back of his thigh and guides it out to the side instead.

Cloud makes a choking noise and tries to pull himself clear using the grip on his wrists. Sephiroth doesn't stop him, or fight him; instead he moves his arm with the pressure, letting Cloud pull his arms in against his body before tightening his hold again.

"Get off me," Cloud grinds out between his teeth. The words are muffled against his arm, and too quiet by half.

Sephiroth's other hand has moved around to the front of his leg, and is dragging slowly over his skin. The warmth of his touch leaves Cloud reeling and too aware that he can't remember the last time anyone was this casual with his body.

(The troopers trying to grapple away his sword don't count.)

"I don't think you mean that, Cloud," Sephiroth purrs into his hair. He's stroking a slow path from the top of Cloud's thigh to the lower curve of his ribs and back again. The touch doesn't quite burn, but Cloud feels scalded and over sensitive in the wake of it.

"I mean it," Cloud says, and tries again to force himself off the mattress with a shove.

Sephiroth moves with him again, pulling up on his trapped wrists. Cloud loses his balance at the lack of resistance and is suddenly pressed against Sephiroth's body the whole length of his back. The heat of him is drugging, and Cloud drags in another breath that tastes like mako and lightning. Everywhere Sephiroth is touching him is hot and alive, and everywhere that isn't, wants to be.

He can feel the way Sephiroth smiles against the skin right behind his ear. A sharp curve of a thing Cloud can picture with ease that feels like it should draw blood. Sephiroth gathers him close, his hands pinned to the middle of his chest in a parody of prayer, and sits up. He keeps them pressed together, and Cloud ends up splayed over his thighs, with Sephiroth's hand curled over his femoral artery. "Do you?" He says, and as Cloud struggles to remember what he's asking, Sephiroth sinks his teeth into that thin, soft skin.

The pain goes through him in a rush, washing away thought like a wave over sand. Cloud makes a sound, too short and ragged to be a moan, but with far too much voice to be much else. His hands pull uselessly at the grip holding them, and his hips rock against nothing.

Sephiroth laughs, the low rumble of it vibrating through Cloud from where his mouth is pressed tight against skin. His right hand stays where it is, high up on Cloud’s inner thigh, holding him spread obscenely in Sephiroth’s lap. The warm air of the room feels cold on his skin compared to the heat of the man behind him. His breathing is ragged, and his head is full of white noise. He can feel himself shaking faintly with tension, and most of it’s fury, but not all of it, not enough of it.

Cloud can’t actually remember the last time he was this hard.

Fury is easier, and Cloud has been ignoring his body beyond what it can do for years. He throws himself against the hands on him with a snarl, trying to kneel up and twist his hands free all at once.

Behind him Sephiroth hums, low and approving, and lets him get almost all the way up before his grip on Cloud's thigh goes bruisingly hard. Rather than pull Cloud down again, he rises up on his knees as well; an overwhelming presence that looms like plate-shadow in Cloud's mind. 

Cloud throws his head back, hoping to break Sephiroth's nose. He misses, and he can feel Sephiroth laughing at him even though he can't hear it through the roaring in his ears. He twists his hands again, trying to break the grip on his wrists and getting nowhere. The hand on his thigh is radiating enough heat for Cloud to feel the warmth on his cock. It's a viciously effective tease, and he chokes down the noise he can feel rising in his chest. 

Sephiroth has never listened to pleas anyway. 

It doesn't help that every effort to free himself is met with a perfect, effortless, counter. Sephiroth barely moves as Cloud tries to thrash his way free, implacable and terrifying and feeding the skin-hunger Cloud has been steadfastly ignoring for months. The buckles on his coat and sword harness scrape against Cloud's bare back as he struggles, a piercing contrast to the smooth skin of his chest. His mouth traces up the tendon at the back of Cloud's neck next to his spine. It feels so good it hurts, and Cloud bares his teeth and tries to headbutt him in the face again.

The second time is no more effective than the first. If anything it's worse since Cloud has thrown himself back, pushing against the grip on his wrists, and ended up pressed full length, body to body as Sephiroth pins him in place again. He lowers his head enough that some of his hair falls forward, silver silk against Cloud's skin. "Enough, Cloud," his voice would be kind coming from anyone else. "Stop."

This spell crashes over him like a wave falling down, stopping even the breath in his throat before it drains away and leaves him to stare at the high, white, ceiling. Cloud can feel himself breathing, even and slow, and he can feel the hem of Sephiroth's coat where it trails over his calves. He can't so much as blink.

"Better," Sephiroth drags his teeth along the line of Cloud's jaw, and lays a kiss so gentle it bleeds on the point of it, before biting down hard on his throat. He works the bit of skin back and forth between his teeth until the pain fades from sharp to a deep ache, and only then lets go. "Much better," he says, and releases Cloud's wrists.

They stay exactly where he held them; crossed in front of Cloud's chest, fists uselessly clenched. The hand on his thigh has eased its grip as well as Sephiroth strokes down to his knee and back up again until his hand lays in the curve of Cloud's hip, gloved fingertips petting back and forth over the skin where leg meets body. 

Cloud would be shaking, if he could move.

Slowly, with all the care in the world, Sephiroth folds them back down. He wraps one arm around Cloud's chest, and lays his other hand low on Cloud's belly as he adjusts to sit back on his heels. Cloud is once again spread wide over his lap, and tucked close against his chest. Each slow, even breath brushes the head of Cloud's cock against the back of Sephiroth's glove in torturous stutters of pleasure. For a long moment Sephiroth doesn't move except for the slow circling of his thumb over Cloud's skin, and the drag of his teeth at Cloud's throat. Eventually, he unwraps the arm around Cloud's chest, and brings his hand up until he can lay it over Cloud's eyes instead. He pulls downward until Cloud can feel the metal of Sephiroth's pauldron against the back of his head. 

Cloud can't hold on to a thought for more than a second, there's too much demanding his attention. He thinks he should be wired on adrenaline, heart pounding, and breathing hard. He's pinned against a man who has never shown him mercy, with every vulnerable place undefended. 

But.

The beat of his pulse is unhurried, and his breathing has maintained its even, easy pace. All Cloud can see is slivers of white ceiling between black gloved fingers, and every breath tastes of leather and mako and the scent of his own arousal. Sephiroth's free hand has begun to wander, brushing light fingers over all those undefended places; the hollow of his thigh, the soft skin low on his belly, and right below his ribs. The stretched line of his throat where his head is tipped back against Sephiroth's shoulder.

"You will always be mine, Cloud." Sephiroth speaks with his mouth resting at Cloud's temple, and the words feel like they skip his ears entirely, sinking in through the bone of his skull to land inside him, inextricable. "You will always want to be," Sephiroth promises, and tips Cloud's head towards himself to plunder his mouth.

It's barely a kiss. It's rough, and full of teeth, and more of an invasion. 

It's perfect, and Cloud is grateful for the Stop spell.

It's the only thing that keeps him from kissing back.

Cloud loses track of things after that. Every caress fades into something that bruises, and every bite soothes. He craves Sephiroth's nails and wants to flinch from the way his armor grinds against the back of Cloud's head. At some point the prickle and static of a materia connection filters back into his awareness, but Cloud is too awash in greedy sensation to notice it. Every once in a while there is the crash of another Stop, but that's just one more thing to feel. 

Sephiroth brushes his eyelids closed and drags his mouth open wider with a thumb hooked over his teeth. Diggs the fingers of his other hand into the back of Cloud's knee as he spreads him out further, and whispers threats that sound like promises over the shell of his ear and the hollow of his throat. He puts his hand back over Cloud's eyes, a redundant blindfold since Cloud still can't open them, and ravages his mouth again. His touch is proprietary and demanding and he never bothers with Cloud's cock.

The pleasure of it aches from his skin to his bones, and Cloud drowns in wanting it. Cloud thinks he might be crying.

He doesn't notice when he starts rocking his hips with it.

He doesn't realise the Stop has lifted until Sephiroth catches his wrist and pins it back against his chest. 

Cloud freezes, paralysed with shame. He'd been reaching, not for freedom, but for Sephiroth's hand. He starts to shake.

"The Reunion is coming, Cloud," Sephiroth purrs into his ear, his grip unbreakably, comfortingly, tight. "I'll see you soon."

Sephiroth shoves him away, and Cloud is falling blind--

Cloud jerks awake in his room at Stargazer Heights. He's panting into the thin pillow, and pressing his hips into the mattress. He makes a disgusted noise, and shoves himself onto his side. It doesn't help. There's a fine tremor running through his body as he fights to hold himself still, and the fabric of his clothes scrapes at his oversensitive skin. He can almost feel hands on him still, possessive and stronger than any human's should be. Cloud can't remember the last time he was this desperate for it.

After a few minutes, he makes himself sit up and put his feet on the floor. Outside the window sector seven is waking up, and next door he can hear water running. Cloud puts his head in his hands and waits for the day to come find him.


End file.
